


Morpheus

by QuietlyImplode



Series: Rescue Me [21]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Red Room (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Natasha isn't sleeping well, therapy has opened new wounds and bound them to her dreams.----“My parents would be so disappointed in me.” She says, her voice breaking.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Rescue Me [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984783
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Morpheus

**Author's Note:**

> This is perhaps my favourite of the series, one of anyway.   
> There is one more stand alone and a then a 8 part series left in this series. Almost there!

She’s been prescribed sleeping tablets. Sleep is elusive. It’s not something she wants to take but even she has to admit that after therapy, the nights are rough. She’s lucky if she gets an hour, and even that hour is plagued with images that aren’t quite dreams but enough to wake her up again.

The next night she gets more sleep, but the nightmares are worse. More sleep but more intense dreams.

Then she’s back in the damn therapy room.

Rinse.

Repeat.

The therapist had discussed the benefits of taking the tablets. Filled the prescription and handed them over and left it completely in her court.

She’d been.. reluctant.

The therapist had reminded her why sleep deprivation was a torture. That emotions become more labile, small hurts feel like big ones and everything becomes harder.

It was obvious she wasn’t taking them, as it was something that the therapist had touched on frequently, becoming a point of routine in the session.

.

She’d lost it at Tony after the session today. He’d been his fucking idiot, snarky self and she’d taken the bait. It’d escalated quickly and she’d almost thrown a knife at his head. She’d stormed out of the communal kitchen and now she’s hungry and tired. What a combo. Maybe if she takes the damn tablets, she’d have more control over herself.

She hates this.

Eating a dinner of crackers and cheese, she holds the tablets. Pulls one out and takes it with water. Lays down and expects miracles.

.

She’s at home. In Russia.

She can see her mother on a rocking chair, her fathers on the phone. She calls out to her mother, runs over to her.

Her mother looks at her in horror and Natasha realises she’s dripping in blood. Thick. Clawing. It’s hard to breathe.

“Oh sweetheart, what have you done?” Her mother asks.

She tries to talk but nothing comes out.

Her father appears, “Natasha, milaya, can you put down the knife?” She has a knife in her hand, she’s pointing it at her mother. She tries to tell them, it’s not her doing this. She doesn’t want to hurt them. It’s no use, she has no voice. She was trained to say nothing.

Her kills are suddenly on full display in front of them both.

They look horrified.

“Was this you?” Her mother asks, sadly.

Her trainers are next to her. Speaking for her. Pulling her strings.

“Look Natalia.” They say.

And they pull the trigger.

Her parents are dead all over again.

.

Natasha wakes up and her sheets are soaked with sweat.

She feels traumatised. She got to see her parents and they’re dead all over again. Even in dreams she’s evil.

She can’t stay here.

Getting up out of bed, her legs just walk straight for Clint.

She lets herself in, pulling the door open.

“Tasha?” He calls out to her.

He’s not asleep, he’s laying reading in bed.

“You ok?” He takes one look at her and knows she’s not.

“My parents would be so disappointed in me.” She says, her voice breaking. She starts to cry.

Clint approaches her slowly, leading her to his bed, lays her down.

“No. They wouldn’t.” He says carefully, kindly.

She tucks her head into his chest, and nods in rebuke. Brushing her hair carefully away from her face, he kisses the top of her head. Hopes it’s comforting. Reassuring.

“You’re ok.” He placates.

He rubs her back, reads his story out loud to distract her from her nightmare, give her something else to concentrate on. It’s only when his arm is numb and his voice is hoarse that he realizes she’s asleep. He kisses her head again.

“You’re not the monster they made you to be,” he whispers and hope it filters into her dreams.


End file.
